


we were but stones (your light made us stars)

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [23]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hallucinations, M/M, Post-Kerberos Mission, Shiro (Voltron) Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 05:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: Through thick and thin, Adam's never truly left his side.





	we were but stones (your light made us stars)

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by [Cofie's tweet](https://twitter.com/Cofie_chan/status/1034830102377451521) that said: _A super angsty fic where Shiro gets sick/poisioned and hallucinates about Adam being there with him._
> 
> I hope this is angsty enough, even though it's not 100% what the tweet/prompt said!!!
> 
> the title comes from a Pearl Jam song, [Light Years](https://genius.com/Pearl-jam-light-years-lyrics), that I thought was really fitting for this ship

 

 

**we were but stones (your light made us stars)**

  
  


   White hot pain flashes before his very eyes and this moment isn’t the first one he thinks that he’s bitten more than what he can chew…

   In the vastness of space there’s time for beauty and light and uncalled pain.  Perhaps he should’ve said goodbye.

   Perhaps…

  
  


   He cradles his arm that’s failing him, he curls up on the floor, forehead on his knees, and he shakes and he cries.  His sobs wreck his body, tear open his chest: pushing through his ribcage, ripping through muscle and tissue and skin.

   And he cries.  He cries his throat raw, his eyes shut, he cries till all he tastes is the salty tang of despair.  His bruised hand cradles his useless arm, cradles it, cradles it, the agony of knowing this is how he’ll go, wasting away in some alien prison and away from—

_  It’s ok, Takashi _ , a voice echoes in the cold dirty cell,

_  it’s ok, Takashi.  I’m right here _ .

  
  


   “No—,” his protest is futile once the straps are effectively securing him to the table.  He shakes and tugs at the restraints; he tries to lift his chest, tries to kick free, but nothing’s working and all he gets for his efforts is a disorientating current of molten electricity churning up his very core.

   “Please,” he repeats like a mantra and tastes bile and blood at the back of his throat.  At his side the hooded woman looks through him impassively, skeletal hands like spiders up his torn arm, his useless arm, his broken arm just like what he’ll be as time moves on.

   “You’ll be our greatest achievement,” the woman says and he can’t help but look away, trying to focus anywhere else but on the masked individuals surrounding him.

   Something pierces the frail skin of his neck and in a matter of seconds his vision begins to swim.  The lights are dimming into nothingness when he sees him, in the corner, looking on with an unreadable expression on his face.

   His name is Shiro’s final gasp before he succumbs into forced slumber.

 

—

 

This is what he thinks,

                                   late at night when his body aches and he can’t get rid of the scent of blood

                                               coating his hands, his face, his body, taking over every sense,

this is what he thinks:

   I should’ve listened.

   I should’ve stayed.

   I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be hurt, I wouldn’t be this alone…

 

   He remembers honey eyes, short hair, calloused hands and chapped lips against his own.  His heart seizes in his chest and he sits up, choking on a sob. His new arm throbs right where it’s meeting flesh, and jostling caused by the abrupt movement makes everything spin.

   It’s a moment when he hears him, thinks he does, because of whatever deranged fragment of his imagination that refuses to go away keeps torturing him this way.

 

_ Matt would’ve died without you, you know… _

   Shiro laughs and cries, tears erasing the lines of everything, just like when he tried out… tried out…

 

   Adam’s glasses resting on the small bedside table, right in front of the analog clock with numbers that shone a dim light into the dark room.  Adam’s glasses with Shiro’s fingerprints smudged over in his carelessness as he took them off in the middle of a kiss, drinking up Adam’s laughter and answering with all the love he has to give.

   Brown hair splayed over his pillow, eyes squeezed shut, hands holding onto the other’s, never letting go.

   The eternity of a moment.  The eternity they had, the eternity that defined them right until the moment they gave up.

  
  


   He sits up slowly and with his flesh hand he wipes his eyes clumsily, tears still stinging at the corners.  

   He rethinks his previous sentiments, and amends:

   Better me than him.

   Better me than anyone else.

  
  


   There’s solace in knowing Adam’s free of their ties.

   There’s solace in knowing that Adam is free to live his life.

   He hopes he is doing just that…

 

—

 

    A million years of distance, a billion years of darkness, a trillion years of light.

   Only a memory to hold onto, of better days, of sunshine and warmth.

 

   And he comes back to hundreds, thousands, of faces looking at him and at nothing at all.  They are all eternal in the stillness of a picture, they are all alive in the breath of a memory.

 

   White lilies left on the floor, stark and shining above granite, he holds his head high and smiles like he hasn’t done in a while.  For a moment, Adam smiles back at him.

   “Thank you,” he says, visibly pulling at his seams to not break apart.

   Silence makes his skin prickle, but he pushes on.

   “I’m sorry,” he adds, and Adam’s face remains immobile.

   A million years of light, a billion years of distance.

   Not anymore.

 

   “I’m home,” Shiro whispers, and his heart cries in sorrow, “I love you.”

 

°

**Author's Note:**

> i am absolutely nuts and i challenged myself to write this in 6 minutes, which is roughly how long the song i was listening to was


End file.
